Breathe (Page 110)

“Enrique,” she said to a man wearing a white shirt and dark slacks standing close by, “please take Faye and Chace’s coats. We’ll take drinks in the sitting room. Faye, what would you like to drink?”

Chace was helping me out of my long, cream wool coat as I shifted my little black clutch from hand to hand and answered, “A glass of white wine.”

“Excellent,” she smiled at me then her eyes went to Chace, “Beer, darling?”

“Yeah, Ma,” Chace muttered, handing our coats to Enrique.

Taking in Chace without his long, wool black overcoat, the skirt around my hips, hand down my panties orgasm, I had to admit, was helped by the fact he was in a very well-tailored, dark blue suit with an open-necked blue shirt the color of his eyes. His belt buckle with the suit was subdued western but still western and the cowboy boots were all Chace. Still, like his mother and I, he made an effort and, as was his way, succeeded wildly.

Enrique moving off with our coats, Valerie led the way to the “sitting room” which was the most formal room I’d ever been in in my life. It was done in soft pinks that were nearly cream and just plain creams. Even in a room that formal I took my cue from Valerie and Chace who settled in like it was your everyday family room, Valerie in an armchair, Chace and I side by side on a couch.

As I was tucking my purse next to me, Valerie said, “I didn’t know what you liked, Faye, and Chace told me you seemed to like everything except pineapple on pizza. But we’re not having pizza so I told Donatta to do it up but avoid pineapple. I hope you brought your appetite.”

“I always do,” I replied on a smile. “But just so you know, I like pineapple just not on pizza.”

“Excellent!” she cried with more excitement than was needed then clasped her hands in front of her again and leaned from her pinky-cream armchair toward Chace and me on the creamy-cream couch and she noted, “Chace tells me you’re a librarian.”

“I am,” I confirmed.

To which she exclaimed, “I love books!”

I laughed softly and shared, “I do too. It’s kind of important to like them when you spend all day around them. What’s your favorite book?”

This was a mistake. Huge. Though I couldn’t fathom why.

Still, I saw it. She sat back sharply, her face grew pale, the fingers of her hands in front of her started fidgeting, her eyes darted to Chace and she looked suddenly terrified.

I felt my body get stiff at her reaction but Chace prompted quietly, “Your favorite book, Ma.”

Her eyes skittered to me then back to Chace and she whispered, “I…” but stopped.

It then occurred to me that she was worried what her favorite book would say about her. She wanted me to like her and she wanted this so much, she was terrified of just being her.

“I have lots of favorite books,” I cut in and her eyes came back to me so I smiled gently and went on, “Let’s see, there’s Rosamund Pilcher’s The Shell Seekers and Oryx and Crake by Margaret Atwood. Then there’s Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Café by Fannie Flagg and Skinny Legs and All by Tom Robbins. I could go on and bore you for hours,” I told her. “And I haven’t even started on the romance novels.”

The fear left her face and she leaned toward me again. “Oo, I like Carly Phillips.”

I leaned toward her, smiling big. “I do too. She’s awesome. The Bachelor,” I told her one of my favorites.

“The Playboy.” She gave me one of hers.

“The Heartbreaker.” I one-upped her.

She sat back again but this time grinning, “Those Chandler brothers…” she trailed off needing to say no more.

“I know,” I agreed.

“Where’s my beer?” Chace asked.

I looked to him and burst out laughing then I looked back at Valerie and said through my laughter, “I’m sure you know this but Chace watches way too much sports on TV. I’m trying to expand his horizons by introducing him to my television shows but he’s reluctant. I’ll admit, my shows are geeky, Valerie, but they’re awesome. So I guess romance novels are way out of his realm of exciting dinner conversation.”

She smiled at me and replied, “Then we’ll endeavor to find something Chace likes to discuss.”

“Do you know the Avs chances at the Stanley Cup this year?” I asked.

“No,” she answered.

“Then perhaps we can talk him into explaining ballistics,” I suggested and it was Valerie’s turn to burst out laughing.

Enrique came in with a tray of drinks and as he handed them around, Valerie wiped a non-existent tear of laughter from her eye and belatedly replied, “I fear, Faye, as interesting as my son is, if he explained ballistics, I would find it outside the realm of exciting dinner conversation to the point I’d fall asleep.”

“Luckily your furniture is comfortable because I probably would too. Though I’d be worried I’d get my makeup on it if I stretched out to take a ballistics induced nap,” I told her.

“Then we’ll retire to the less formal family room when Chace tells us about ballistics,” she told me. “I don’t mind makeup on my furniture but the furniture in there is much more comfortable.”

“Two sleeping women in cocktail dresses. Terrific. Let’s do that. You can sleep, I can put on the game,” Chace muttered and my eyes shot to Valerie.

“See!” I cried.

“I do indeed,” she replied, grinning at me.

I took a sip of my wine, swallowed and lifted the glass to her. “This is delicious, Valerie.”

“Do you know wine?” she asked.

“Not even a little,” I admitted. “Just what I like to drink.”

“Then you must go to Napa. You don’t have to know wine to go to Napa. You just have to like it,” she told me.

“Sounds the perfect vacation destination,” I replied, she grinned again, seeming relaxed and looked at Chace.

“Lovely, darling. Faye enjoys wine like I do.” She lifted her own wineglass. “Such a bother, Misty and all her cocktails. I never quite –”

Chace got tight at my side. Valerie got visibly tight across from us, her face paled and fear filled it again.

I instantly forged into the awkwardness and did it gently.

“I grew up in Carnal, Valerie, I knew Misty and that was very sad. But Chace and I are up front about things.” For the most part, I thought but did not say, and went on, “But that was a while ago and Misty’s not here to drink cocktails and although that’s upsetting, we’re here to enjoy wine and each other’s company so we should learn from the loss of a young vital woman and do that.”